


touch

by wajjs



Series: [ t o u c h ] [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cyborgs, Gen, Jason Todd didn't die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: To the general world, a son is declared missing. To those who know, a songbird is declareddead.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Sandra Woosan, Sheila Haywood & Jason Todd
Series: [ t o u c h ] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111268
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	touch

**Author's Note:**

> spending my bday in quarantine because the world is nuts right now, so this is the gift i decided to give myself
> 
> enjoy!

**t o u c h**

_Touch. I remember touch._

_ Pictures came with touch. _

Batman doesn't make it.

The man in the suit prays to the universe and tells himself he will, that all those things he believes in will not fail him and, therefore, he will make it in time.

But Batman doesn't.

With his failure comes the death of the man and the dominance of the suit.

Though not one block of debris is left unturned, no body is ever found. To the general world, a son is declared missing. To those who know, a songbird is declared  _ dead. _

The eulogies pour down on the freshly disturbed soul like rain that can't be felt but leaves sickness behind. Underneath the suit and the skin, the carcass of a man begins to rot. The rain does not wash the feasting maggots away.

He becomes a stranger to laughter and to life.

He becomes the biggest stranger, blinds his eyes and despairs because even blinded he keeps noticing the spaces of existence that scream of a vacuum. When a potential candidate shows, he doesn't want any more.

Life doesn't listen. Just like death never did. But life's deafness sometimes is a good thing.

  
  


When Robin dies, a loving heart and a hero, the universe takes it for what it is: a tragedy. And tired of tragedies, the universe cradles the faith of this one in its starry hands, keeps him warm in its touch and directs someone to this one and the one by his side.

They reach swiftly, assess the mess, take the bodies and leave without trace. From tragedy things can be recovered. This one promises there is much to earn.

Robin dies but in a sense and a million.

The costume is torn and useless, spotted with blood and dirt. The big R a bright reminder of times of hope and dreams. A thing now lost.

The boy under the Robin doesn't die. He doesn't get to live, either. He comes from an ending of grief and pain into a world of loss and hurt.

"Be grateful, they salvaged all they could."

The boy under the R looks in the mirror and all tenderness is gone. His skin is no longer skin. There are cables and strange alloy panels. He does not feel thirst. He does not feel hunger. At least now a part of his past is no longer a threat.

The one who rescued him is deadly, precise, ruthless. A woman he respects dearly, someone who can teach him all he's ever failed to learn. His mother looks on from a wheelchair, face heavily scarred, same as her hands. Her smile reflects on the surface of his face. He pushes on, keeps trying.

"Here lies your problem," the lady speaks while bringing him down again and again and again, "you've experienced death, now you no longer fear it. You don't have a survival instinct anymore. Without it, you are destined to fail."

But he gets up with every fall, shakes dust from the ground threatening to clog up his joints. 

"There are other things I fear," he says.

The lady smiles. "Then  _ use them. _ "

He meets a beautiful woman who stares at him for one long moment before nodding to herself, agreeing to the deal.

"If Lady Shiva vouches for you," she smiles, a slow, sinuous thing he can't replicate, "then I don't see why this can't be arranged. Come. There is much to do, and too little time."

Vibrating with energy, he goes. Tells himself this is how things are supposed to be. And he's right, for a minute, almost forgets what he once was and what he now is, all in favor of just existing.

When the beautiful woman shows him the files, he lays eerily still. She's appreciative of such a skill so unnatural to humans. He'd cry over it if he could. The hormonal, chemical response is  _ there _ with nowhere to go. His breathing pattern doesn't change. He cannot sweat. His body temperature doesn't go up, not with all the regulators working just fine.

It's like the smiling face in the picture is mocking him. He knows that's just jealousy talking. He misses being able to do that.

"Where is _he,_ " is what he asks and makes sure the question is fully understood. The beautiful woman seems pleased that he will do what no one else can.

If Gotham's air smells the same, he can't tell. His filters take care of that.

All he knows is that he's holding onto a pasty white head by the puke green hair and he's full on planning to plant it somewhere it can be found come morning. Even if this won't give back what's been taken, now there won't be any more little birds to be forced into singing pretty little sounds.

If his humanity was the price to pay, then it is a small price indeed.

His mother touches his face and he doesn't feel it. He acts like he does. The pressure is there. That is all there ever is.

He remembers how touch used to feel. He mourns all the caresses he'll never receive.

The man with the suit arrives with nearly silent steps onto the rooftop. He remains.

"You said you had proof."

"Proof of Jason Todd's whereabouts," he speaks, turns and looks at the other. "He's right here. _Almost_ in the flesh."

"Search the building," the man in the suit barks into a tiny little earpiece. Good thing there is no heart to feel it break.

Happy little memories that seem to be of someone else. He never erases them. His mother and the lady give him strength to try again. It is ridiculous. Why do they treat him as human? He's not. He's not. He's not.

But then the man with the suit finally  _ sees _ him for what is worth and from under it he moves, holds him, refuses to let go.

" _Jaylad,_ " he whispers, "Jason. My boy."

It's a hug he cannot feel. The remembrance is a little foggy. He's losing the finer details.

"I'm here," he still replies with, lets himself have this one moment. It's all he needs.

-

**Author's Note:**

> title & beginning quote come from daft punk's song also titled "touch"


End file.
